Mr. Confidence

Sometimes, something happens which makes you look at your child with new eyes.

This morning, Z and I were at Poring Hot Springs, the sulphurous waters which seethe out of the jungly lowlands in the shadow of Mount Kinabalu. They function, if not as a panacea, at least as a salve for muscles recovering from ascending 800-plus metres of said mountain then descending more than 2 kilometres of it.

In a single day.

After a 2am start.

I use the term recovery, of course, loosely. Z, being nine, had no recovery to do. Me? Well, my quads are still humming the theme to Chariots of Fire — suck on THAT, Rosemary Conley! – and my calves flinch at the slightest hint of a step. But the show pony hobble has gone and I’m confident I can carry a backpack without buckling under it. (I like to leave the buckling to gentlemen who kindly swing it off my back.)

Anywise. Besides the hot, outdoor baths we technically came for (which fill at speeds from glacial to leisurely), and a butterfly garden and orchid garden for which torrential Borneo rain stopped play, the hot springs feature these beautiful series of stepped pools, with a little waterslide winding down besides them. For which my enthusiasm faded the second Z pointed out it was cold, leaving me to spectate poolside.

And, among the assembled kids, were two little Malaysian boys, whose ages I’d guesstimate at nine and eleven, bombing down the slide as a pair on two rubber rings.

Z watches, briefly. Then makes his move. He bounces up to them, casually, brandishing his inflatable and a big grin, and begins to explain, jollily, using a lot of sign language, how the three of them could do something REALLY COOL if they joined forces, using their three rubber rings and three pre-tween forms.

The boys grin back. It’s clearly a good idea, whatever it is.

And they’re off. Bombing down the slide, in different permutations. Rings stacked, linked, thrown ahead and then leapt onto. Boys descending conga style, arms linked, one after the other, crashing into one another… And each time, the smiling, the grinning, the natural, effortless interaction.

It brought home to me, I guess, just quite how much Z’s confidence has grown over the last few months of travelling. Not just in dealing with adults, negotiating new places, finding his way around…

But in dealing with his peers. Because that was a tough thing to do. Inserting himself confidently, instantly into a game with two brothers, in a new country, where English is a second, third or fourth language for most, putting forward his own ideas and having them accepted, but not taking over the game. Without waiting, shilly-shallying, being scared of rejection…

It’s tougher, in many ways, than the more adult tasks he’ll quite happily take upon himself.

He can walk into a guesthouse, establish whether they have rooms available (taking staff bewilderment in his stride) check the price, check the facilities and check out a room, with me sat in a cafe opposite with the bags. He can take himself round the corner in a new town or city and buy his own snacks from the sweetshop (or equivalent).

He can haggle like an absolute demon, knock back touts with the best of them, chat up older women with a confidence many grown chaps would envy, deal with all kinds of food situations and participate in adult conversations with ease.

He’s trekked routes that no Western child has trekked before, scaled a mountain which beats plenty of fit, strong adults, towed a substantial adult diver in full kit 25m on the surface of the water…

He got the cheapo Nokia I bought working, is teaching me the finer points of Skype, is more fluent on both his PC and my Mac than I am, and imbibes new language like a sponge.

But for some reason that little moment earlier really impressed me. Perhaps because in London he tended to the quiet side. Happiest with his close circle of friends — with whom he’s still in regular touch. Never one to put himself forward. Never a show off.

He’s grown in so many ways over the last half year, with more ways to grow still. And I’m really excited about the person he’s becoming.

Though he’s still my little boy.

And Grandpa’s, too.